


A Failed Experiment

by Skullszeyes



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Acceptance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Arkham Asylum, Arkham Asylum Patient Jerome Valeska, Awkward Crush, Boys Kissing, Coping, Denial, Escaping Arkham Asylum, Fluff, Friendship, Gentle Kissing, M/M, Male Friendship, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mild Blood, Minor Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch, Non-Consensual Electroconvulsive Therapy, Non-Consensual Kissing, POV Jonathan Crane, Self-Harm, Soft Jerome Valeska, Swearing, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21676054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skullszeyes/pseuds/Skullszeyes
Summary: Jonathan is friends with Jerome and Jervis while they deal with their own instabilities.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane & Jervis Tetch & Jerome Valeska, Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48





	A Failed Experiment

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write another fic of these three, and mostly of Jonathan and Jervis, but I'm not great with romance of any kind, so it turned out like this. It wasn't supposed to be this long, but it kept going and going. LOL.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciated.

Jonathan hated physical contact. He wasn’t scared of it, he just didn’t like it. And when he was found by the GCPD, he had tried to rip their hands off of him while they pulled him into the car. Afterwards, he was evaluated by a psychiatrist in the hospital before being moved to Arkham. The reason for this was what they had learned about him. His father was obsessed with ridding fear from the mind, and this obsession had carried over to Jonathan who had crafted weapons to use against others. And not in the way his father had hoped. He didn’t care what his father was doing before, he wanted people to feel what he was feeling.

Fear.

“A failed experiment,” Doctor Strange had mused once during their sessions.

Jonathan didn’t look at the doctor, instead he rocked back and forth in his seat, a straight jacket keeping him from attacking the orderlies, or digging his fingers too deeply into his arms. He was a danger to himself and to others. It took months to get the straight jacket off of him, and during those few months, he was on medication that calmed his nerves and made his mind go blank.

“Sedation,” Jerome muttered beside Jonathan one day during their time in the common room. Jonathan could hardly remember when he became friends with Jerome, but most of the people inside Arkham were frightened of him because of his unpredictable nature. Jonathan overheard two orderlies talking about Jerome having antisocial personality disorder. It made sense to Jonathan who had rocked back and forth on the couch.

Jerome nudged him in the side and Jonathan had gone still by the feeling of another person touching him. “Tetch is being moved to our section next week.” 

Jervis Tetch. He heard about him. The orderlies always changed the TV channel to the news station, so they were almost always up to date about what the police were doing. Of course, they were more curious about the dirty cops, but Jerome always knew how to read between the lines.

The Mad Hatter had been giving the GCPD some difficulty. And like most people, Jervis knew how to hide his tracks, at least he lasted three months before getting caught.

“Is he...like us?”

Jerome snorted. “Of course he’s like us. You don’t see a guy wandering around like him and think he ain’t ending up in this place.” He nudged Jonathan in the side again. “Thought you were smart.”

“I am…” Jonathan said, narrowing his eyes but Jerome ignored him.

The last person to properly care about Jonathan was his father. Unlike the GCPD and their lack of interest, or even the orderlies who abused their privileges, Jonathan’s father left an imprint of his hands on his shoulders, his arm, his back, these small touches that weren’t hateful only gave a lasting impression on Jonathan’s stability. He had thought maybe it was the only thing that he was able to hold onto during his time in Arkham.

Anyone else’s touch bothered him. As if they were going to rid his father’s touch from his body, replace it all, and then what was Jonathan supposed to do?

“Did he hurt you?” Dr. Strange asked during one of their sessions a few days after. 

“No,” Jonathan said, his gaze always found the floor instead of the brown stained eyes of the doctor. He hated when he stared too long at him. His gaze seeped too hard into Jonathan’s head, searching for every possible answer, the attention crawled under his skin, secreting oil that made him sick. 

“He did,” Jerome muttered after Jonathan left Dr. Strange’s office. “You’re a liar.”

“I’m not a liar,” Jonathan said, heart racing at the lie. Jerome leaned against the couch in the common room, tapping his fingers on the arm wrist.

“They’re going to get rid of this couch next,” said Jerome, giving a glum look toward the orderlies standing outside of the fenced area. They all wore white, but it was never spotless. Arkham was too dirty to keep anything clean.

“You did take over it.” When they started to become friends, or whatever this was, a partnership? Jerome never gave it a name, and Jonathan tried not to either, but Jerome had sat down on the couch, always waving Jonathan to sit with him. And it’s been like this since they’ve known one another.

“Doesn’t mean they should get rid of it,” Jerome said, scratching the side of his head. He had a wound there from the time he became too erratic and attacked an orderly. He stayed in solitary confinement for a week, and that week was dreadful because Jonathan had no one to talk too. “Your dad did hurt you, right?”

Jonathan shook his head, “He didn’t hurt me.”

“You wouldn’t be like this if he hadn’t.”

_Why did everything have to have a reason?_

A few days later, Jonathan was led back to the common room to find his seat on the couch was taken by a shaky man with stringy brown hair. He was thin, slouched, and speaking rapidly to Jerome.

Jonathan, awkwardly, walked over to them. And he realized this man was Jervis Tetch, and when they both looked at him, Jervis kept glancing at Jonathan than down at the floor, his words falling from his mouth as his jaw clenched.

“I told you he’d be here,” Jerome said with a wide gleeful smile.

“I never doubted you,” said Jonathan.

“Move over,” Jerome told Jervis, and the man moved to give Jonathan space to sit between them.

“You look too young to be in here,” Jervis said, and Jonathan noted the way he slurred his words. He was still twitchy, and Jerome whispered to him that it was the drugs Dr. Strange put Jervis on.

“A sedative?” Jonathan asked.

Jerome shook his head. “He’d be like all the other idiots in here if he was on a sedative.”

“I’m nineteen,” Jonathan muttered to Jervis who gave a quick nod.

“Youngest one in here?” Jervis asked.

“This is an adult mental hospital,” Jerome said, leaning against Jonathan who stiffened up while Jerome nudged Jervis in the shoulder, the man jumped at the sudden contact. Jerome grinned at both of their reactions when he moved back. “Jonny would’ve been kept at the children’s hospital if he was under eighteen. Don’t tell me you’re not smart either.”

Jervis furrowed his brows. “Sorry...you just look young...that’s all.”

Jonathan was getting the feeling Jerome was trying to control them in some way by how simple they can be. It wasn’t like they had much to do in Arkham besides wallow in their drugs.

“They’re going to get rid of the couch by tomorrow,” Jerome said, wrinkling his nose and glaring at the orderlies. “I think I know how to keep it.”

Jonathan frowned. “They’re going to send you back to solitary confinement if you act up.”

“Shut it, Crane, I don’t need your bullshit, I want to keep this fucking couch!” And he said it way too loudly, which got the attention of the orderlies. They didn’t do anything, but Jonathan felt that Jerome couldn’t keep in his anger issues for long.

“Solitary confinement?” Jervis said, leaning forward to look at the both of them.

“Jerome’s been sent there more times than anyone else,” Jonathan told him.

“What about you?”

Jerome scoffed. “Jonny’s having fun in therapy class.”

Jonathan nudged Jerome, “You see him too.”

“Not as much as you, do tell me about your father, Jonathan Crane,” Jerome said, grinning at him as he moved his hand to his chin as if in a thinking position. “Or shall we shoot you up with drugs?”

“They don’t _shoot_ me with anything.”

“When I first met you, all you did was slur your words and stare at the wall, I had to talk to a doll for an entire week before you got your wits together,” Jerome said, nudging Jonathan in the shoulder. 

Jonathan hardly remembered when they met, but it didn’t matter. The next day, Jonathan was once again in Dr. Strange’s room, and once again talking about Gerald Crane. 

“From the police reports,” Dr. Strange said, moving the papers around while Jonathan sat still, no longer rocking back and forth, he did keep his eyes on the floor. “Your father was conducting experiments on you.”

He wouldn’t exactly say they were experiments.

“He wasn’t doing anything.”

The doctor mused. “They had found chemicals inside the house you and your father were living in, and from what the doctors learned was that your father had a hard time accepting the loss of your mother, Karen Crane.”

Jonathan shifted in his seat. “He wasn’t doing anything.”

Jonathan was led back to the common room only to find the couch was gone, and Jervis was sitting on the floor from where it had been. He was leaned against the fence, rocking back and forth. 

“Where’s Jerome?” he asked Jervis while sitting down on the cold cement. It was not ideal as the couch, and the other inmates were snickering at them, or at least that’s how Jonathan felt while the bugs crawled along his spine.

“Confinement,” Jervis muttered.

Jonathan guessed that was where he was sent. “When?”

“Twenty minutes ago,” Jervis said, turning his head and grinning sickly at the orderlies. “He attacked them...viciously.”

Jonathan had seen Jerome attack the orderlies before. Many times, and it was always in a vicious manner. The other patients always got a thrill in seeing Jerome act out. They yelled, jumped on the tables, tossed their food, and screamed. Jerome controlled an entire room with ease, even when he was angry and most of it wasn’t directed at anyone else, but the orderlies.

Jonathan rarely attacked anyone, maybe it was because when he first came to Arkham, he was kept inside solitary confinement for a day before he met Dr. Strange, then he was given a room, and afterwards, the sedatives kept on coming. Small white pills that were dry without water, and tasted powdery in his throat. There was the threat of a needle, and Jonathan had reacted badly at the idea, and since then, it was a subtle threat here and there. 

“Where were you?” Jervis asked.

“Therapy session,” Jonathan answered wryly. 

“Was it fun?”

“Not really.” Dr. Strange hadn’t let go of the topic about his father, and Jonathan really wanted to talk about something else. Except he wanted to get to the root of Jonathan’s issue. What did it have to do with his father?

“When do you think we’ll see him again?” Jervis inquired, looking toward the orderlies again. 

“Maybe a week if he stops screaming at the walls.”

“Have you been in solitary confinement?” Jervis asked, rocking back and forth like how Jonathan had been when he first came to Arkham. When the drugs were deep in his system. How was his mind? Was it like Jonathan’s? Blank? Empty? 

“Twice.”

“How was it?”

Why was Jervis interested? Maybe he thinks he’ll go into solitary confinement at some point. Most of the patients rarely enter the dark room, or even experience the tight itchy straight jacket that was wound around their bodies. 

“Boring.” 

“Why?” 

Jonathan stared at Jervis while the man stared back. “Why what?” He hated the questions. It was like Dr. Strange all over again. Was Jervis trying to get to the root of his father as well?

“Why were you sent to solitary confinement?”

He doesn’t think Jervis knew about what Jonathan had been doing before he came to Arkham. And why the GCPD were hunting him. It didn’t seem as interesting when a year had gone by.

“I attacked some people before they brought me in, but I was only in solitary confinement for a day.” He shrugged. “Jerome says it doesn’t count.”

“And the second time?” Jervis moved closer, and Jonathan’s heart raced at the strange proximity.

Jonathan squeezed his eyes closed. He hated thinking about it. It was too much. Way too much. “They took something from me...and I didn’t like it. Dr. Strange has it with him, and he says if I comply with him, I don’t have to deal with the ice baths and electric shocks anymore.” 

“The what?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Jonathan went on while wringing his fingers, “it was mine, they weren’t supposed to take it from me.”

“Take what?”

Jonathan shook his head, and his breathing was getting more heavier, then he snapped his eyes to Jervis, and reached for his shoulders, Jervis sucked in a breath while Jonathan held onto him. “It was mine, it was mine, it keeps him away from me, his voice inside my head! It keeps it out of my head, I need it, and he has it, and he won’t give it back to me!”

An orderly entered the common room while the other patients watched Jonathan as he was yanked off of Jervis. He squirmed as he’s dragged out of the common room and taken back to his cell. The door is slammed shut, the lock is in place, and Jonathan is digging his fingers into his hair while the slightest memory seeps into his mind. 

_Did he hurt you?_

Which one?

A few hours after, Jonathan was given a straight jacket and placed in a wheelchair. He didn’t move, but he was visibly disturbed by the memory as he was taken to Dr. Strange’s office. Apparently, he cleared every other appointment just so he can talk to Jonathan. He wasn’t sure if the doctor was trying to make him feel special, at least when Jonathan stared at the man, he felt nothing.

“You had an episode in the common room with another patient,” Dr. Strange said, writing down something in his notes. “Why?”

“He asked about solitary confinement.”

“Jervis Tetch,” Dr. Strange said. “He was in solitary confinement for about a week before he was cleared of any violent reaction.”

Jonathan didn’t like that. Why ask him about it when he had gone through it? Maybe he was curious about Jonathan’s time in the empty room. It almost seemed like something Jerome would do and say just to get an answer, or even a reaction. Were they the same?

“What else did he ask that upset you?”

“He wanted to know about the Scarecrow.” 

“Did he ask you outright or was it implied?”

Jonathan had issues with this, Dr. Strange told him that the implication of it was disorganized and sometimes Jonathan ended up confused. It was a rhythmic conclusion to their conversation when it had to do with the Scarecrow.

“Implied.”

“Are you sure?” Dr. Strange looked up from his notes.

Jonathan shifted in his seat. “I don’t think he knows.”

“We had this issue when you attacked Jerome,” Dr. Strange said, letting out a sigh. “And now you’ve attacked another inmate because of the same reason.”

Jonathan tensed. “I didn’t mean too, it was a misunderstanding. I won’t do it again.”

“That’s what you said before,” Dr. Strange said. “I’m going to appoint an electric shock—”

“No,” Jonathan said, almost falling off the chair if it weren’t for the orderly keeping him still, “no, please, I won’t do it again, I’m sorry!”

“—For the following week, and by next Monday, we’ll talk more about this subject.”

Jonathan clenched his teeth as the chair began to move, and he almost wanted to start crying. He tried fighting against the straight jacket, but there was no way he was getting out of it. They were getting closer to the room where his mind would become numb and empty.

He started to hyperventilate as the orderlies helped him onto the metal bed. Everything else had blanked out for him, even the entire time they placed him on the wheelchair, and taken him back to his room. It felt as if days had gone by, and all he could do was count how many times he returned to the room, and fell on his bed. The straight jacket was uncomfortable, as if it was sinking deeper and deeper into his skin.

They gave him his medication, and then took off the straight jacket. They weren’t exactly nice about it either, and Jonathan grunted as he tried to walk correctly to the common room.

Had it been a week? Jerome was sitting with Jervis, the both of them on the couch that wasn’t supposed to be there.

Jerome smiled, waving his hand at Jonathan as he was let inside. Jervis seemed to be happy to see him as well, but Jonathan wasn’t so sure about their enthusiasm. 

“Heard you had another ice bath,” Jerome said, his hair wet. 

Jonathan didn’t sit down with them, and he stared almost forlornly. “I don’t think I like you guys anymore.”

“I barely know you,” Jervis said, frowning. 

“So the ice bath was really that bad,” Jerome said, shaking his head at Jonathan. “I woken up to one this morning, and let me tell you, it was really bad, scraping my skin along the metal tub didn’t help at all.” He showed them the reddish mark on his arm, it had broken through.

“They gave me electric shocks for an entire week.”

“Is that why you look like that?” Jervis asked. He wasn’t so shaky as before, and he seemed to have gotten the hang of his speech.

Jonathan didn’t want to know how he looked.

“I see you made yourself another bag,” Jerome said, leaning forward and almost taking the pillow case from Jonathan who stepped away from him. “Come on, bag-head, let me see!”

“Why do you have that?” Jervis asked.

“Oh, he has this thing where he dons pillow cases,” Jerome said, leaning toward Jervis as if he was whispering to him. He wasn’t, but Jonathan didn’t care. “He once had an actual scarecrow head and he would wear it all over Gotham, freaking the shit out of people with his toxin.”

Jervis’ brows rose. “That was you?”

Jonathan placed the pillow case over his head and let out a sigh of relief. He sat down beside Jerome, away from Jervis, and it almost felt like he was on a drug. He was completely relaxed as he leaned back against the couch.

“How’d you get this back?”

“I can get anything if I ask the right person,” said Jerome, grinning.

Jonathan didn’t understand Jerome’s mind all that well. “How was solitary confinement?”

“Better than usual.”

“Was it?”

“No. It was shit, you should know, Crane.”

Jonathan closed his eyes. He hated that he knew, but he also hated that after this, he’ll have to return to Dr. Strange’s office and talk about the Scarecrow again. And what happened a week ago, his episode spiked, and it left him weak.

“We should get out of here.”

“I already know how too,” Jerome said, leaning back, his arm barely touching Jonathan’s. 

“You do?” Jervis asked, perking up. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“I like having a bed, a roof, and free food.”

“We could probably get better things with the Penguin,” Jonathan said in a languid manner.

Jerome chuckled. “If he doesn’t try to kill us again.”

* * *

Jonathan found himself inside Dr. Strange’s office again. Trying to stop the silence from making him feel awkward. Maybe the doctor used the ticking sound that came from his clock to make his patients uneasy. If it was true, then it was working.

“You’ve made friends,” Dr. Strange said. 

Jonathan shrugged, “I wouldn’t consider them friends per se.” 

“But you’re communicating with people,” Dr. Strange said, glancing up and sighing. “Please take off the pillow case.”

Jonathan reached up and slowly took it off his mop of brown hair and pale sunken face. He stared at the doctor, waiting for what else he was going to say during these sessions. The moments between felt stale and bitter, mostly on Jonathan’s part because he hated talking about his feelings, and about his father. The fixation seemed almost like an obsession, and he had asked Dr. Strange about it, but he twisted the question and compared the obsession to Jonathan’s own thoughts about the Scarecrow.

“I’m not obsessed,” Jonathan told the doctor once. Dr. Strange had waved away the thought and started talking about Gerald Crane again.

“That house,” Dr. Strange began, “the one you and your father were staying in was run down.”

Jonathan swallowed thickly. Here it was, the past resurfacing with each visit, and because of the expectation, his heart raced with the fear of recalling it.

“Burned to the ground,” Dr. Strange said, pen in hand, “but you stayed inside it with your father—”

“I was a kid, I had no where else to go, and he was my dad.”

“Of course,” Dr. Strange nodded. “You do know what your dad was doing beforehand, right?”

Jonathan looked down. “He was a teacher.”

“A biologist and a chemist.” Dr. Strange waited a second, and continued, “After your house burned down, you and your father stayed inside it for some time during the summer than the fall until the day when your father had gone too far.”

Would Jonathan consider that _‘too far?’_ “He was trying to help me.”

“Except his experiments—”

“He wasn’t experimenting on me!” Jonathan controlled his voice, his breathing. He didn’t want another ice bath. He shuddered at the thought of being dipped inside for far too long.

“Jonathan, I’m trying to help you accept what your father was doing to you.” 

He shook his head, letting out a groan. “He wasn’t doing anything to me...he was trying to help, that’s all.”

“This is a delusion, Jonathan, an obsession of a sort your father had instilled in you to believe.”

Jonathan looked at the doctor, “He was trying to help me.”

* * *

“One of these days, you’re going to have to accept it,” Jerome said to Jonathan a day later. Jonathan’s hair was still wet from the ice bath he was given before he was taken to the common room. He was shivering between Jerome and Jervis while they watched the news on the TV. Crime was dwindling again, but Jerome was sure it’ll go up soon.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jonathan said, picking at the hem of his shirt. His pillow case was confiscated after his session with Dr. Strange. He wasn’t sure why, and the doctor wouldn’t tell him. Jerome had also said that it was his way of tormenting Jonathan.

“You told me about your father’s experiments,” Jerome said, nudging Jonathan who stiffened at the contact, “so don’t bother lying about it.”

“I told you because it didn’t matter all that much at the time,” Jonathan said, trying to get away from Jerome’s insistent touching. He didn’t want to _‘act out.’_

“Sure, that’s nice to know.”

“What experiments?” Jervis asked, fashioning newspapers into a hat. Jerome had also filled in Jonathan that Jervis had a thing with Alice in Wonderland. 

_“Don’t mention it to him, or he’ll never shut up, trust me,” Jerome whispered during one afternoon._

Before Jonathan could say anything, a hand covered his mouth, and Jerome ended up grinning at Jervis’s confused expression. “Jonathan’s dad experimented on Jonny, that’s why he’s in here, all fixated on scarecrows and fear.” 

Jonathan shoved Jerome’s hand off his face, and glared at Jerome. “Don’t fucking do that again, your hand is gross.”

Jerome chuckled, “Yeah, might not know where it’s been.” He tried shoving his hand into Jonathan’s face again.

“Fuck off.”

“Your dad was experimenting on you?” Jervis asked, confused. 

Jonathan let out a deep sigh. “He wasn’t experimenting on me.”

“That’s what he likes to tell everyone,” Jerome whispered to Jervis. “But look at how disturbed our poor little Jonathan is, can’t even tell the difference between one reality and the other.”

“There’s more than one?” Jervis asked, fascinated.

“No, shut up.” Jerome leaned back, scowling at Jervis. “Do I always have to be careful around you two.”

“Don’t worry Jonny,” Jervis said, his eyes wide, “we’ll keep you safe from the scarecrows.”

Jonathan glared at him, “I’m not scared of scarecrows. I’m not scared of anything!”

“That’s not what Jervis told me,” Jerome said, nudging Jonathan again. “Is that why you don’t like physical contact either? Because your dad did some shit to you?”

Jonathan tried to calm down, “He didn’t do anything to me, shut up, just leave it alone. I don’t ask about why you killed your mother.”

“It’s a sensitive topic,” Jerome said, moving away from Jonathan. 

Jonathan didn’t believe him. Jerome was barely affected by anything, it’s probably why he rarely went to any therapy sessions with Dr. Strange. His illness was a lot different than the rest of theirs.

“Ta-da!” Jervis said, finally finished his makeshift hat.

“Hide it before the orderlies,” Jerome glanced to the fence where an orderly was unlocking the door, “oh, shit, here they come, Jervis.”

“No!” Jervis held the hat, his eyes wide with worry, “No. This is mine, it doesn’t belong to you, I made it!” 

Jonathan frowned as Jervis fought with the orderlies over the paper hat before Jervis was thrown to the cement, and the hat was ripped into pieces. His tears were genuine as he tried gathering them together.

“Shit,” Jerome said, frowning as Jervis was taken out of the room, “he had the same breakdown a few days ago, but you probably don’t remember.”

Jonathan was amazed by how the tense situation eased once a patient was taken out of the room. The mindless chatter drowned out the voices in his head, the ones that growled, others that soothed, and then his father who yanked Jonathan around and gripped his shoulders. An imprint on his mind, on his body, on everything else that made sense to him. Maybe everything didn’t matter, maybe Jonathan wasn’t himself since his father died. Maybe he didn’t exist since then. 

“If I’m going to get us out of here, you and Jervis are going to have to get your shit together,” Jerome said, leaning against Jonathan, his skin tingled by the contact.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jonathan said, shaking his head and letting the voices falter into the back of his mind.

“You and Jervis are barely friends, I’m the only one connecting the two of you,” Jerome said. “If this is going to work, there has to be trust.”

“You could leave us in here,” said Jonathan, absentmindedly.

“I could, but I need help on the outside, so stop being a little unsocial bastard, and be friends with the hat freak.”

Jonathan sighed. He didn’t know what to say to that. He barely knew Jervis, and yet he felt terrible when Jervis’s hat was ripped up in front of his eyes. He rarely felt pity for people, and he wasn’t sure why this was any different. Maybe it reminded him of when his pillow case was taken the first time, and he couldn’t handle it. 

Jonathan didn’t see Dr. Strange until next week, and he had a schedule for an ice bath and electric shock therapy for the entire week. He felt excessively numb when he entered the common room and found only Jervis sitting on the couch. Jerome wasn’t there, which can sometimes be morbid since Jerome liked sitting on the couch.

“Where’s Jerome?”

Jervis, shaky, shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. He wasn’t here when I came in...maybe he acted up again.”

“I don’t think so,” Jonathan said. “He might be in therapy...or having an extended time in the bath.” He had heard from some orderlies that because of Jerome’s more erratic behavior, they liked to torment him a bit more. They didn’t overly beat the patients, but they had the inclination to hurt them in more subtle effective ways. Like keeping a patient in the bath tub for far too long, or giving them an extra half hour with shock therapy.

“Did they do that to you?” Jervis asked, slightly turning his body toward Jonathan. 

“What do you mean?”

“Did they take your Scarecrow hat too?”

It wasn’t technically a hat, more like a mask that hid Jonathan’s face. The one he wore now didn’t resemble what he wanted to look like. The fear of others didn’t balk at a young skinny kid, it was better if their fears were strengthen by what he created, and that was the Scarecrow.

“Dr. Strange has it,” Jonathan said, turning his attention away from Jervis.

“Will he give it back to you?”

“I don’t know?” He wished that Dr. Strange could give it back, it’d make him feel a lot safer if he did. For the past year, he was getting the feeling that he wasn’t going to at all.

Jervis moved closer to Jonathan. “Jerome told me something about you.”

“Jerome talks to much.”

“He told me you don’t like physical contact because of what you father did to you.”

“See,” Jonathan glared, “he does talk too much, don’t listen to him, Jerome can be a liar.”

Jervis didn’t say anything besides leaning closer to Jonathan. His eyes were dark, cheeks sunken, his bones protruded, fighting against the thin layer of ice coated skin.

“Don’t,” Jonathan said, heart racing. “Jerome is a liar.”

Jervis smiled, sharp like broken glass, “I think you’re the liar.”

He was like Jerome. Why did he attract people who were too similar to one another? It wasn’t like he wanted to be friends with Jerome, or even Jervis. He glanced to the TV, and figured that before Jonathan had come to Arkham, Jerome must’ve known Jonathan would arrive, like he had known Jervis was coming. 

“Fucking bastard,” Jonathan said, shaking his head. He hated Jerome.

“He wanted us to be friends,” Jervis said, moving closer to Jonathan as if he was trying to be subtle but failing. “I don’t want to be friends.”

“At least we feel the same way.” 

“I want to be more.”

Jonathan frowned. He did not expect that. “In Arkham, that’s impossible, I’m surprised they even let us be friends with Jerome for this long.” He was expecting to be separated from Jerome the first week they’ve known one another, but maybe it was from Jerome’s contact that they were able to stay together. Someone was fearful of Jerome that he was able to keep his couch. 

“I think it’s possible if we’re subtle,” Jervis said, smiling, then he leaned closer, turning his head and to Jonathan’s confusion, Jervis pressed their mouths together. It wasn’t as shocking as Jonathan would’ve thought. The contact was foreign, but he thought of his parents right away. His mother’s mouth on his cheek, his father’s on his head, their words mingling together until Jervis was waving his hand in front of Jonathan’s eyes. “Are you okay?” 

“Why...did you do that?” Jonathan asked, his mind slowing down.

“I wanted to see what would happen?”

Jonathan’s mouth was dry, and his mind empty. “My father said that once…”

Jervis frowned, “You know, I didn’t believe Jerome when he said your father hurt you, but—”

Jonathan scowled, disgusted by what he was about to say. “Not in that way. My father wanted to see what would happen, so he...created a toxin that made people fear things, made their phobias more...real.”

That was a lot more than he had ever told anyone, even Dr. Strange, and it somewhat bothered him. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he told Jervis, “soon we’ll be getting out of here.” 

He could still feel the imprint of Jervis’ mouth on his lips. It was soft, subtle, as if they were still there. He wiped at his mouth to try to get rid of the feeling, but he couldn’t get rid of it. It was uncanny. Seeping into his skin, in his bones, in his dreams when he fell asleep on the spring bed inside his cell. He rolled on one side and imagined an arm rest on his side, his words soft in his ear. Everything was soft inside a razor thin place full of broken minds ready to shatter completely. It was a lingering effect upon his cold skin. Jonathan dug his fingers in his arms where a hand rested, in his shoulder, along his neck. He had done it terribly until blood seeped upon his fingernails.

The next few days after he got the wounds looked over, and Dr. Strange wanted to see him again then wait an entire week. Jonathan found himself sitting beside Jerome and Jervis.

The both of them always sat too closely, and Jonathan honestly felt disturbed by their physical contact, it was almost like a trauma, a nightmare, a spider skittering on his body and he was afraid it might enter his mouth. 

“We’re doing it tonight,” Jerome whispered, a bruise on his forehead. He wouldn’t tell them where he got it, but Jonathan didn’t care enough to ask.

“How?” Jervis asked, he was much more tense than usual, and Jonathan was getting the feeling he was making a new hat.

“I’ll come get you two,” Jerome whispered, grinning. “ _How_ doesn’t matter when we’ll leaving after midnight, so you better be awake.”

Jonathan was elated by this news, even so when he headed to Dr. Strange’s office and sat in the all familiar chair. It was rigid and hard, unlike the doctor’s usual black chair with wheels. He wore a grim expression, not like he ever truly smiled unless he was giving out a tormenting order. Jonathan had met those smiles a few times over the year, and right now, Jonathan had a lot more interest in smiling when he left this place.

“Now, Jonathan, you’ve harmed yourself, can you tell me why.”

The pinpricks of his fingernails digging into his fragile skin still burned and pulsed, but it gave him enough incentive for his thoughts to be less disorganized.

“I was talking to my friend,” the word tasted odd in his mouth when Jervis’ lips still pressed themselves against Jonathan’s, “and I realized that my father was hurting me...but not in the way most people would think. He was helping me be less afraid of fear like all the experiments he conducted on people since my mother died.” Talking about this left his mouth parched, but he hoped this was enough for the doctor.

“And the experiments your father conducted on you,” Dr. Strange said. “How did it make you feel that your father had done this to you?”

Jonathan wasn’t sure about the question. “He wanted to help me, but I don’t think he did.”

Dr. Strange nodded, approvingly. “This is good, Jonathan, you’re finally coming to terms with what happened to you.”

He wasn’t so sure about that either, but at least Jonathan can feel less in denial about it.

“Can I have _him_ back?” Jonathan asked, and then he glanced toward a picture sitting to the left behind Dr. Strange. He knew _he_ was behind it, he had seen Dr. Strange’s slight movement as he was going to look, the twitch of his hand, everything was subtle, but it told him where it was.

“We’re not yet done, Jonathan,” Dr. Strange said, “but after a few more sessions, I’ll think about it.”

Jonathan smiled, “Okay.”

* * *

Jonathan laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for Jerome. He had good faith that Jerome could get them out, and he pushed sleep away and the small feelings that he got from Jervis from his mind, and waited and waited until he heard the slightest knock outside of his cell.

He sat upright and slipped his feet off the bed and carefully walked over to the door until he was face-to-face with Jerome. He grinned as he slid the door open, reaching forward and yanking Jonathan out of the room.

“Holy shit,” Jonathan whispered.

“I ain’t no liar,” Jerome said, leading Jonathan down the hall where they found Jervis watching the halls.

“I never doubted you,” Jonathan said.

Jerome told them he found an air duct that leads to the basement that also leads to a back door. He was able to steal a key and tested it on the sensors throughout the asylum. He said that part of the asylum was dead, and kept the key hidden inside his room until now.

“Wait,” Jonathan said, “I need to get something from Dr. Strange’s office.”

“Can’t you fucking let it go already?” Jerome said, glaring at Jonathan in the dim lit hall.

“I’ll come with you,” Jervis said, stepping close to Jonathan. The proximity made the silence between them and Jerome feel strained before Jerome grumbled a swear.

“Fine, let’s go, but if we’re caught, you’re both kicked off the couch,” Jerome said, leading them down the hall. They sneaked by a few orderlies until they reached Dr. Strange’s office. He wasn’t inside, and Jervis had picked the lock so they’d be able to get in. The office was gloomy, and like Jonathan, Jerome and Jervis disliked being inside it. 

“Ice bath this, electric shock that,” Jerome shook his head while Jonathan crossed the room, “one of these days that bastard’s going to get what’s coming to him.” 

“Pick this lock,” Jonathan told Jervis when he took the portrait off the wall. Jerome was standing by the door while Jervis unlocked the safe. Jonathan pulled the door open and let out a soft sigh as he reached in for his Scarecrow mask. The second he touched it, he was relieved of every pressure he felt while inside Arkham. He even noticed something else inside the safe and passed it to Jervis.

“This...is…” Jervis held his top hat, a glittering blue hat with a feather sticking out on one side with a small card held by a black ribbon. He looked to Jonathan who was closing the safe, and then he reached over and touched Jonathan’s arm, and before Jonathan could react, Jervis had kissed him again with a bit more pressure.

“Hey, I didn’t expect you two to get this friendly,” Jerome said, snickering once Jervis pulled back, his hand trailing down Jonathan’s hand and took it in his. 

He was a little frozen, and only moved when Jervis tugged him along after Jerome. They were sprinting down the hallway where Jerome led them into an air duct. They had to pull each other into it, it didn’t take as long since the three of them were extremely light thanks to Arkham’s diet. Jerome chuckled in the space they had together as he walked toward the end.

Jonathan’s hand was still in Jervis’, and he was afraid of letting go as they walked along jagged edges of getting to one place and to the next until they found themselves at the back door of the asylum. 

Jerome took out the key from his pocket and looked back at his friends and said, “Might not want to look the way you do once we get out of this place.”

He was right.

Jonathan pulled on the Scarecrow mask and breathed in the familiar dusty scent, while Jervis set the hat on top of his head, a grin rising across his face. They were better when they could be themselves, and Jerome saw to that once he pushed the key into the door and unlocked it. The light outside was bright and shiny, and Jerome led them to freedom outside the iron wrought gate, their feet inches in snow as they headed into the city.

He didn’t expect their friendship to reign the way that it has, and it grew stronger once they found themselves in their proper dwelling places inside of Gotham. 

Jonathan didn’t know for sure if he was himself, or what his father hoped. He wasn’t even sure if accepting what happened made him the way he was, he just didn’t want to go back to a place where he was nothing but fearful.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not great with titles or endings, so whatever, I guess! :D
> 
> I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciative.


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